brocade is a battlefield

Or is it in fact just plain hideous?

I came across a navy knee-length cap-sleeved brocade shift dress in Jigsaw this August, and honestly, it just made me want to cry. Especially when I realised that it would sit, neglected, on the rack until sale time, at which some point some poor woman would buy it, because it was reduced, and she had vaguely managed to talk herself into believing it look good on her (it didn’t). Every time she wears it she won’t feel comfortable in it; she won’t know which shoes and bag go with it, nor which way to sit in it so that it doesn’t crease unattractively (tip for you: there’s no way, creasing is inevitable).

And people will notice. They may not necessarily realise it’s the dress, but they’ll pick up on the fact that she feels awkward and ill-at-ease, and will in turn not feel relaxed around her, because they’ll think it’s something to do with them. Her best friend will get upset, convinced that she’s slighted our brocade-wearer in some way. Her children won’t be able to hug her because she’s so aware of avoiding the potential enhanced-crease factor, and it’s undesirability in the face of ‘formal dinner party’ that evening. And her husband will look at other women, happily ensconced in pleasing shades in cashmere, jersey or silk, and wonder why his wife doesn’t look like them. He may or may not eventually have an affair.

This is the worst-case scenario, you understand.

However, the lessons to be learned are these:
1. Steer clear of brocade unless it’s proper designer rtw, preferably dolce & gabbana, and;
2. Jigsaw, you are so relentlessly average in so many ways, I don’t know what is the point of you